


Lines in the Sand

by manic_intent



Series: Lines in the Sand [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, That fic where Dorian and Blackwall to Dorian's surprise, and then end up having a mutual understanding in a cave, discuss philosophy and culture of all things, just because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall shrugged, all creaking armour and leather. “I may not like you or what you are very much at all, but you are brave and you have a good heart: that much is undeniable. It’s more than what most people have. So.”</p><p>“… And here I thought we were going to launch into some terrible spiel about how we were all in this together,” Dorian said, after a startled pause. The day was turning out to be full of surprises. </p><p>“That sort of thing only happens in Varric’s books.”</p><p>“Oh, you <i>read!</i> I’m shocked.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I play games with no spoilers (I only watch Cinematic trailers pre game and don't read reviews, discussions or anything), so I didn’t actually know anything about the IB/Dorian romance until I heard it was actually a thing, and googled for how I could kick it off, and then stumbled on a thread discussing whether it was abusive. The only point I’ll make about this is: in fandom, YMMV. 
> 
> After finishing the whole romance (many, many hours spent wandering around triggering dialogue) I would say, those lines wouldn’t have worked on me, and it was not something I ended up shipping, but personally, it was not something triggery for me either. That being said, this is a Dorian/Blackwall fic, so the premise is as it is. 
> 
>  
> 
> **TLDR: I don’t ship Adoribull, but I don’t find it triggery, YMMV, the Dorian/Blackwall has to start from somewhere, you have been warned**

I.

“These big, muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled,” Iron Bull rumbled, gaze fixed on Dorian, “Helpless in my grip-“

“All right,” Blackwall interrupted flatly. “That’s enough.”

“I was just flirting. Don’t get your smallclothes in a twist,” Bull said blandly.

“That was _not_ ‘flirting’ by any breadth of my understanding of the word, Qunari.“

“Yes, thank you, Blackwall,” Dorian cut in tightly, still thrown firstly by Bull’s sudden declaration and _then_ further off-kilter by Blackwall’s sudden defense of Dorian’s dubious virtue. “I can speak for myself. Bull, I’m not sure what it’s like under the Qun, but that’s certainly _not_ ‘flirting’, _kaffas_ … and I’m, well,” Dorian pinched at the bridge of his nose. “It’s not going to happen.” 

“All right then,” Bull blinked, “I read that wrong. Well, if you ever change your mind, my door’s always open. Sorry if I gave offense.”

“None taken.” Dorian muttered, and couldn’t help but glance over at Blackwall, at how the heavily armoured warrior only shot him another cursory look before starting down the rocky scree into the oasis far below. “I admit, I didn’t really expect _you_ of all people to say anything, Blackwall.”

Blackwall shrugged, all creaking armour and leather. “I may not like you or what you are very much at all, but you are brave and you have a good heart: that much is undeniable. It’s more than what most people have. So.”

“… And here I thought we were going to launch into some terrible spiel about how we were all in this together,” Dorian said, after a startled pause. The day was turning out to be full of surprises. 

“That sort of thing only happens in Varric’s books.”

“Oh, you _read!_ I’m shocked.”

“Careful,” Blackwall muttered, “The small measure of goodwill that I was starting to feel towards you is evaporating rapidly.”

“ _Got it!_ ” crowed Evelyn from the shelf of rock above, and Blackwall was turning quickly towards the sound, starting anxiously towards the Inquisitor as she slid/fell down a small cliff and to the sand, brandishing a shard in one hand. “Got it.” Evelyn frowned at all three of them. “What? Something on my face?”

“Just clearing out the air, boss,” Bull volunteered into the silence.

“… All right then,” Evelyn decided, confused. “Well, let’s do a sweep of this oasis area and then get out of here. It’s too hot, sand’s getting everywhere, and there’re no dragons to fight. I’m getting bored.” 

“You’re the best,” Bull brightened up visibly. 

“I thought we were here to investigate the Venatori presence,” Dorian said dryly. 

“Ugh, yes, that too. But let’s just do it all _quickly_. I heard there’s a high dragon out in the Hissing Wastes. Let’s go there next.”

The subsequent appearance of a giant did wonders towards briefly improving Evelyn’s and Iron Bull’s moods, as did the pocket of Venatori mages and minions that they quickly cleared out - before a temple that they couldn’t open. Glowering at the door, Evelyn slapped the fragment she had picked up against one of the grooves, again, but although that lit up, nothing else happened.

“S’pose we could hike back to the Hinterlands and use those skull towers to find the other shards,” Bull suggested.

“I can’t imagine anything else _more_ boring,” Evelyn complained, shifting her shield against her arm and scowling at the door again as though it had personally offended her. “Maybe we could use explosives to open the door?”

“I like how you think,” Blackwall said admiringly, even as Dorian groaned, “And bury everything remotely useful within the temple?”

Evelyn sighed. “Maybe Dorian has a point.”

“You could just use Inquisition forces to find all the shards,” Bull pointed out. “Leliana has lots of scouts everywhere. It’ll be more useful than asking them to gather herbs, or coin. Maybe.”

“… True.” Evelyn conceded, evidently losing interest where dragonslaying wasn’t involved. “This was a waste of time. Let’s get back to camp, and head over to the Wastes in the morning.” 

The desert cooled down considerably during the night, to Dorian’s relief, even if the insects and _charming_ bloodthirsty wildlife that thronged around the oasis did not offer a great camping experience. Dorian ended up slipping out of the camp, irritable and a little itchy and restless, walking over to where the edge of the oasis painted the sand with bands of lush grass.

“Shouldn’t wander off by yourself,” Blackwall said gruffly from behind him. “Lots of hyenas still about.” 

Dorian jumped: He had been so absorbed studying what he could see of the temple from where he was that he hadn’t heard Blackwall coming. He turned, and noted that Blackwall wasn’t in full armour: just his padded undershirt, breeches and boots, though he’d buckled on his blade at his hip. 

“Yes, thank you, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t.” Blackwall said mildly. “Magic might make you more confident than you should be.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dorian asked irritably.

“I mean,” Blackwall noted calmly, “That magic or no magic, you can still die. So. Don’t go walking off by yourself without telling anybody.”

“I’m pretty sure that between you, Evelyn and the Bull, you’ve already roundly slaughtered everything remotely dangerous in the vicinity.”

“Best not to tempt fate.” 

“How is it,” Dorian said testily, “That you treat mages and magic with such contempt, but your own, late, Warden Commander was a _mage_ and you looked at her with a kind of fanatical respect that forgave all her failings? She turned her _own_ people, _your_ people, to blood magic!” 

“I don’t treat mages with contempt simply because they are mages,” Blackwall said, with a touch of exasperation, but without the temper that Dorian had been angling for. “It’s… look. Magic is a form of power. Some people are suited to it, and use it for good. Many don’t, and need to be held in check. Whether they’re mages, or some fief lord who thinks that title and blood will forgive him his excesses, it’s the same idea.”

“That’s… probably more thought and philosophy than I’ve heard from you to date.”

“Months in the wilderness,” Blackwall said shortly. “Good for long thoughts. People are fundamentally flawed. If people were more like… like the Inquisitor, I wouldn’t have a problem with magic. It’s thoughtlessness and the abuse of power that hurts others that I’ve got a problem with. People who think that they’re better than others, and make them suffer.” 

“That’s not what I got out of our little talks.” 

Blackwall let out a grunt. “Suppose not. You want frilly words, talk to Varric.”

“I agree, actually,” Dorian said reluctantly. “Magic without fetters… well. You get a situation like Tevinter, with its rampant blood magic and excesses.” 

“ _Power_ without fetters,” Blackwall corrected. “Seen it in Orlais. Without magic involved. Still fucked.” For a moment, something ugly twisted its way across Blackwall’s face, like an old and festering memory, but then it smoothed away. “Coming back to the camp?”

“I want to take a walk, actually. Can’t sleep. I’ll be fine, nothing here is going to eat me.”

Blackwall grunted again. “Care for some company, then?”

Rather taken aback, Dorian stared for a long moment until Blackwall shrugged and started to turn, then hastily, Dorian said, “All right. Count me startled. But all right.” 

They strolled slowly along the still water, Blackwall alert, studying the shadows, glancing about at any small movement, and Dorian - well. Dorian was starting to enjoy himself. He hadn’t had a moment like this since fleeing to Haven and onwards to Skyhold. There wasn’t much room for privacy in Skyhold, and few friends with which to enjoy a quiet moment like this: most people did not look past his staff or the colour of his skin. 

For a moment, Dorian felt a rush of gratitude towards Blackwall, and then silently berated himself for it. Blackwall likely couldn’t sleep either, or was just doggedly doing what he saw of as his duty, ensuring that the only Inquisition mage out and about right now didn’t get his arse eaten by hyenas.

“Sorry I poked my nose into the matter before,” Blackwall said finally. “You and the Iron Bull,” he clarified, when Dorian shot him a blank look. 

“Ah. No. Qunari are a straightforward folk. It’s their culture. I was just taken by surprise.” 

“Really.”

“They don’t have… partners in the Qun,” Dorian explained. “Propositions like that aren’t exactly considered offensive to them, I don’t think. If someone feels the itch, he or she would go to the Tamassrans and get it scratched. Straightforward matter.” 

“… Prostitutes?”

“No! No. Priestesses.” Dorian grinned at Blackwall’s open confusion. “Strange culture. And a very interesting one: there’s nothing else in Thedas quite like it. ‘Tamassran’ means ‘Those who Speak’, in Qunlat. They’re revered. They control the breeding program in the Qunari, decide roles, educate children, look after the impaired, act as counsellors, and mete judgment on the unreformed. In many ways they run the Qun, and through that, the Qunari. Not that the Qunari see it that way.”

“How would they not?”

“To be part of the Qun is to be part of a single whole. Everything with its place. We could say it is a savage culture,” Dorian allowed, “But the Qunari are not human, and should not be judged by human standards.” 

“Bull’s not an animal.”

“Of course not. But he’s not human, nor is Varric, nor Sera or Solas. Elves, dwarves, Qunari - they all have… or had, at least, where the Elves are concerned - their own rules, their own ways of dealing with the world. If people accepted that, there’d be far less pointless conflict everywhere.”

“A pacifist at heart.” Blackwall said, and in the shadows of the rock, Dorian couldn’t quite make out whether he was being taunted.

“I can’t abide waste. People destroy things that they don’t understand. Elves. Mages. Each _other_. In many ways, we’re just as savage as the Qunari.”

“… so it’s a good thing that we didn’t decide to blow up that door,” Blackwall jerked a thumb up at the temple above.

“Exactly!” Dorian said, only to catch a hint of Blackwall’s smile as the shadows ebbed. Scowling, he turned away, glowering out over the water, the lush reeds. “Forget it. I’m wasting my breath.”

“I’m not laughing at you, Dorian.” Blackwall said seriously. “And just so you know, I don’t have anything against you.”

“So all those… lovely little snide anecdotes to date were all, what, your way of trying to be friendly?”

“You ran right over the mountains to Haven to warn people you didn’t know, people who might’ve chosen to cut you down first before listening, and you’ve stuck by the Inquisition since. Took balls.” Blackwall shrugged. “I was just curious about everything else. You seemed like noble-born right off the start.”

“Noble _and_ a mage. Must’ve pushed _all_ the buttons.” 

“Selfless too, when you’re not busy pretending to be a right arsehole.” 

“How d’you know whether I’m pretending?” Dorian asked, grinning, and Blackwall rolled his eyes. 

“Sometimes it’s a fine line. _You_ don’t like me either. Or Sera.”

“You mean, you’re judging me by how friendly I should be to someone whose usual answer to anything I say is ‘Piss!’ or ‘Arse!’?” Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Or to someone who usually just grumbles on about a family and personal history that I couldn’t have chosen?”

“… Suppose so,” Blackwall frowned. “You _did_ leave it all.”

“Ran away, actually,” Dorian said cheerfully. “The things you do when your own father tries to change your nature with blood magic.”

Blackwall stiffened, and after a long moment, he said, uncertainly, “But you love your homeland. The Inquisitor said something to that effect once.”

“I do. I suppose I’ve been looking for a way to… change things,” Dorian said helplessly. “There’s much that’s good about Tevinter. Much that’s bad.” 

“Some sins can’t be forgiven.”

“Maybe,” Dorian agreed, stung. “But people can change.” 

That ugly, twisting sentiment crossed Blackwall’s dour face again, and the big man looked away. “Not always.” 

They were near a natural tunnel now, one that led up towards the temple. Perhaps a little vindictively, Dorian made a flashy gesture at an old torch, bolted to the wall, and it flared to life, making Blackwall flinch back, startled.

“Trying to call the hyenas on top of us, are you?” 

“Don’t tell me that Warden mages are all as dour as you are.”

Blackwall shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been to Weisshaupt. I’m a recruiter. Don’t often meet mages running about in the wilderness. Other recruiters do the run of the Circles. Or did.”

“Even after the rebellion?”

“After the rebellion, meeting a mage outside of a Circle is usually an invitation to get a fireball in the face.”

“Well, you never know. It might be good for that face shrub that you call a beard,” Dorian said dryly. “You might even look halfway decent under all that fur.”

“It keeps me warm at night,” Blackwall retorted. “Unlike certain people, forever either complaining about it being too hot or too cold.” 

“It’s _eating_ your face at night.”

“Not all of us have the time to carefully snip away at our beards with little scissors.”

“If you’d put even a fraction more effort into your general appearance instead of actively trying to resemble a bear, you’d probably be more successful with the ladies.”

“Resembling a bear is a good survival trait when you live out in the wilds for months at a stretch.” Blackwall pointed out.

“All right. You have me there.” Dorian admitted, though he grinned as he said it.

“Besides,” Blackwall added, almost absently, “Didn’t say I was interested in being successful with the ladies.” 

“… Really.” Dorian said, very slowly. “I must’ve heard you wrong.”

“Nice walk,” Blackwall said, with exaggerated patience, “Moon out. Pretty lake. Just us.”

“And… antagonistic dialogue?” 

“It’s only antagonistic if I’m hitting someone with my sword.” At Dorian’s guffaw, Blackwall looked blank for a moment before adding, dryly, “Not _that_ sword.”

Ah… _kaffas_. Why not. Dorian _had_ given some thought to things, here and there: Blackwall was a big man, with a natural strength to his bulk, and sometimes, maybe, Dorian _had_ wondered if Blackwall was… big all over. As it were.

Dorian started to grin, and Blackwall raised his eyebrows. “Thought you’d get lucky?”

“No.” Blackwall said, all blunt honesty. “Nice walk. Moon out. But as you said, I still look like a bear. Not to mention that I’m a dirty commoner, hm?”

“It’s a literal description where you’re concerned. You _could_ benefit from better hygiene.” Dorian dared to step closer, though, right until he was up into Blackwall’s personal space, just to watch Blackwall blink at him in surprise. This close, it wasn’t as bad as Dorian thought: there _was_ the faint sour scent of far too many days spent encased in full armour, the lingering smell of leather and steel, but over it all there was a masculine… musk that wasn’t displeasing.

Blackwall leaned over, in a tentative way, and when Dorian didn’t back off, he pulled Dorian up into an abrupt kiss, more teeth than tongue, brutal rather than intimate, and at the shuddering gasp that Dorian muffled between them in response, he _growled_. 

“Snuff that torch out,” Blackwall whispered. “Don’t want anyone coming out here to check on us.”

II.

They’d gone deeper into the caves, because it was quiet and because it gave Dorian a vague semblance of privacy. He’d never actually gone rutting out in the wilderness before - Blackwall laughed when Dorian said as much, low and rough: the first laugh Dorian had ever heard out of the usually dour Warden. Just in case, they left their weapons within reach, and didn’t strip all the way off, Dorian braced against the rock with his knees kicked apart, Blackwall’s big fingers curled tightly over Dorian’s cock, the other hand fumbling slick from a potion between Dorian’s cheeks.

“Sorry,” Blackwall kept murmuring, “Sorry,” he said again, as a far too rough push of his fingers set Dorian to arching.

“What for?” Dorian grit out.

“Been a while for me,” Blackwall admitted. “Not the best place for this either.”

“Just shut up and keep going,” Dorian growled, “It’s too dark for me to remember how big your… ngh… cock was, but I’m hoping for the best here.” 

Blackwall laughed again, rougher this time, harsher. “Big enough for you, I think. You’re tight.” 

“I don’t actually… _kaffas_ … make it a habit to get fucked up the arse against a wall unless there’s also a bed involved-“ 

To Dorian’s irritation, Blackwall stilled instantly. “You said this was all right.”

“It _is_ all right! Do I have to put it down for you in writing?” Dorian pushed his hips back pointedly against Blackwall’s fingers, grinning as he heard a soft gasp behind him. “But whether you, sir, have the ability to push it past ‘all right’ into ‘fairly acceptable’ stands… aah… to be seen.”

“Tell me what you like, then,” Blackwall said, as he scissored his fingers. “Slow? Fast? Want to ride me instead? Or-“

“This is fine,” Dorian grit out, because he’d always had a secret weakness for a bit of rough, and the calluses scraping against his cock, slicked only by spit, felt incredible. “Just fuck me into the wall. Make me scream.” 

There was another sharp intake of breath, then Blackwall nuzzled Dorian against the back of his neck, crowding him against the stone, and Maker but did _that_ make his heart pound.

“That,” Blackwall growled, “Won’t be a problem.” 

The prep had been thorough, but even with potions it still _burned_ when Blackwall pushed carefully inside him, stretching him far wider than Dorian had ever tried: he was vaguely aware of a thin, keening sound coming from his throat, Blackwall’s fingers working at his cock, but all of his world was narrowed down to the pressure pushing into him, the stretch, Maker-

“Careful there,” Blackwall murmured. “Your hands,” he added, when Dorian took in a gulping breath and jerked his gaze up from the rock, pulling fire and lightning back into him. The smell of the storm was already in the air, though, and the rock was charred, and Blackwall’s next breath was unsteady as he pushed deeper, a rough slide that was maddeningly, maddeningly slow. 

Dorian spat out a string of incoherent Tevene when Blackwall was finally hilted, then gasped out a, “Maker, you’re so _big_ ,” when Blackwall nipped him at the back of his neck. 

“You know,” Blackwall said conversationally, only the faintest of hitches in his tone, “Sometimes, when we’re out and about, when you think I’m not looking, you stare at my crotch.”

“It’s… uh… it’s academic. Was. _Was_ academic.” Dorian squirmed, and Blackwall’s grip over his cock tightened.

“If you like big cocks,” Blackwall continued idly, as though they were discussing the damned weather rather than being so intimately joined, “The Iron Bull-“

“Please don’t,” Dorian grit out, before he had to listen to Blackwall discuss the Iron Bull’s cock and the world as it were ended out of sheer impossibility, and then he started to laugh, choked and strangled and a little manic. 

“All right there?” Blackwall asked, concerned again, and Dorian swallowed hard, gulping, amused all over again. 

“The first considerate lover I’ve had since leaving Tevinter has turned out to be a bear-shaped Warden, and we’re fucking near the carcass of a dead Giant, under a forgotten temple. Life is infinitely strange.”

Blackwall hummed, and the first, careful thrust still had enough force to rock Dorian up onto the balls of his feet. Dorian swore, but when Blackwall stilled, Dorian rolled his eyes and ground back against him. 

“If we’re… up to comparisons,” Blackwall grunted, “The first mage I’ve ever fucked is a too-pretty magister-“ 

“-Not a magister!”

“-who, for all his airs,” Blackwall nipped Dorian’s ear, slipped the wet press of his tongue behind the lobe, “Is asking me to fuck him against a wall like a tavern wench.” 

“You forgot the part where I asked you to make me scream,” Dorian added, angling a smirk over his shoulder. “Which doesn’t seem to have happened as yet, by the way.” 

“Patience.” Blackwall’s next thrust was deeper, hard enough to punch a startled gasp out of Dorian and scrape his bracer-sheathed arms over the rock, then big hands settled over his hips, and Blackwall dragged Dorian bodily up and onto his cock as he drove into him. 

“ _Fasta vass!_ ” Dorian yelped, then spat out a string of garbled nonsense as Blackwall did it again, pounding into him with the same controlled tidal force that he dealt out in war, his breathing hitched but slow, holding Dorian in place to be _taken_. 

“Touch yourself,” Blackwall growled, and Dorian obeyed, resting his forehead against one arm as he worked at his cock with a hand, each powerful shove against him pushing his flesh up into the circle of his fingers, again and again until he was spent, with a cry that was wrenched out of him, staining the rock with his seed. Behind him, Blackwall let out a low, harsh laugh. “I’ve got another trick,” he said, conversationally, while Dorian was still gasping and dazed. “Going to make you come again.” 

“Not… physically… Ngh!” Dorian stiffened as Blackwall rolled his hips, probing, and _there_ , the perfect spot, even with his cock softening under his hand and desire growing overwhelming so close out of release: he bit out a sobbing moan as Blackwall adjusted and fucked into him again, angling to hit the spot again, laughing softly as Dorian jerked against him like a plucked chord. 

It took a while, long enough that Dorian’s legs were trembling against Blackwall’s thighs, enough that Dorian’s moans and pleas had bled into hoarse, wordless whimpers, his cock thickened again between his thighs but Blackwall pinning his wrists to the rock as he drove into him, up onto the tips of his toes with each thrust and back down, both of them sticky with sweat and maddened. Dorian was so dazed when he finally came again that he barely registered it, choking out a groan as he spilled more thinly against the rock, and this time, Blackwall grunted, satisfied, and pulled him closer with an arm around his waist, holding him still as Blackwall’s hips stuttered, a staccato breach of self-control that ended with Blackwall burying a moan against Dorian’s spine. 

Somehow, they managed to clean up, dress, and walk - or limp, in Dorian’s case - back to camp without getting eaten by monsters. 

“We should do that again,” Dorian noted blandly, before they settled down to their bedrolls. “ _Not_ in the loft of a barn, though.”

Blackwall’s lips quirked. “Want some grapes peeled while you’re at it?” 

“Maker, the things I learn about you everyday,” Dorian affected surprise, and Blackwall grunted and rolled over to sleep. Dorian settled down, with a little wince, and folded his hands over his chest, closing his eyes, fighting the small smile that threatened to pull at his mouth. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so quick to judge, after all.

III.

“So. You and Blackwall,” Bull said conversationally in the morning. In the front, at point position, Blackwall stiffened, but didn’t turn around.

“What about us?”

“Aww, come _on_ ,” Bull protested. “Two of you sneaking off last night? You limping like that this morning? Show off. Not all of us had fun.”

“Is _that_ what happened?” Evelyn said, fascinated. “I thought… well. Nevermind what I thought.”

“No, no. You’ve made me all curious. What _did_ you think was happening, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked dryly.

“Well, uh. I thought maybe the two of you went off to, well, piss or something. Together. You know. Women do it. For the company.” 

“Boss,” Bull said, into the thoughtful silence that ensued, though Dorian could see Blackwall’s shoulders shake a little up front, as though in laughter, “Never change.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


End file.
